


Stolen

by GuiltyRed



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, masturbation; m/m sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuiltyRed/pseuds/GuiltyRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching, wanting – that which is forbidden is often the most desirable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen

Even though I knew it was wrong, I couldn’t stop watching him. I hid behind the door frame and peeked around the delicate screen, trespassing on something that had to be the most personal, intimate act of the man’s life.

Tseng flowed like water, moving from one stance to the next with seemingly no effort. The humble wooden practice sword flowed with him, dancing across his fingertips as he switched hands, rising and falling in smooth, precise arcs. Bare feet made no sound, though the ground was covered with thin paper.

Sweat glistened on his bare torso, muscles rippling beneath golden skin. Even from here I could see the pattern of scars that marked this man’s career as legendary, and for the first time I discovered that he bore a tattoo across his back: the claws of the panther reached down and around, drawing fresh blood from the deepest of the scars.

I gasped softly, in surprise and delight at what I’d seen. Terrified of discovery, I slipped away from the door and fled, my mind reeling with stolen images.

* * *

Even though I knew it was wrong, I couldn’t stop watching him. I stood hidden by the door frame, peering through the crack at the hinges, trespassing on something that had to be the most personal, intimate act of the boy’s life.

Rufus lay sprawled across his bed, fine silk sheets in turmoil beneath him. His left hand clutched the headboard, lean muscles etched taut beneath porcelain skin as he writhed against his own strength.

With his right hand, he stroked himself, scented oil shimmering along his length and lending a sharp musk tang to the air. Lips parted, eyes shut, he seduced himself with delicate abandon, drawing shudders from his flesh and ghostly whispers from his throat.

My own breath caught at the sight, surprised and delighted at what I was seeing. Mindful of discovery, I slipped away from the door and returned to my post, my senses reeling with stolen images.

* * *

“You’re beautiful, when you think no one’s watching.”

A question asked with eyes, not words.

A reply given with no words, just a smile.

* * *

Rufus clung to Tseng’s shoulders as the older man guided him, astride and down. Pale neck arched back, baring his throat; Tseng leaned forward and pressed his lips to the pulse. The chair creaked ominously beneath them.

It had to be this way, so they could face each other the next morning: no romance, no wine, no bed. Just two men seeking pleasure, and finding it.

Rufus gave a wavering cry as Tseng pulled him the rest of the way down, stretching and filling him as he’d only imagined before. The pressure increased the heat pooling between his legs, making him harder than he’d ever been. His fingers dug into Tseng’s shoulders like claws.

Tseng poured a little oil into his palm; before it warmed completely he smoothed it over Rufus’ straining cock. A harsh gasp was his reward. Smiling, Tseng began to stroke.

Rufus thrust into that hand, then ground back onto Tseng’s length, pressing down until the hair scratched against his skin. Eyes tight shut and mouth slack, he rode the pleasure that had haunted his fantasies for months.

The slender body atop him began to tremble, rhythm faltering. Tseng held Rufus steady and rocked up into him, shallow but powerful thrusts that made the youth grunt and moan. His hand flew faster, palming the head and squeezing.

Pale blue eyes flashed wide in surprise, staring into Tseng’s as pleasure peaked and roared through Rufus in an unstoppable tide.

Tight heat clenching around him, Tseng felt his own climax rise up. He set his left hand in Rufus’ hair and pulled him into a fierce, claiming kiss as they shuddered together in completion.

They lingered there, past the point where both had gone soft, until deepening shadows filled the room. Each knew that this stolen moment could well be the only one of its kind, and both were loathe to end it.

“Tseng?”

“Yes?”

“As leader of the Turks, you have much discretion…”

Tseng raised an eyebrow, curious where this might be going.

“And few would question my actions, as long as I didn’t do anything…obvious.” The glance that followed did not match the tone of the words: the voice was all Vice-President; the look was only Rufus. “Could we…?”

Tseng smiled softly, fingers carding through sweat-damp silken hair. Inside, the debate raged: answer as a man, and give him false hope; or answer as a Turk, and break his heart?

His eyes never left Rufus’ face as he opened his mouth to speak.


End file.
